


Broken Heart

by LittleSweetCheeks



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alcohol, Angry Drinking, Gen, No Pairings I Swear, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks
Summary: “I chase down bitchy little boys with mommy issues. They can run, run, run all over the world, but I catch them and make them regret being born.”





	Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an idea based on the song Momma's Broken Heart, it seemed to fit Emily somehow.
> 
> One shot. All in fun.

Danny had been a bartender all his adult life and then some. His uncle had owned the bar, named it Rose and Crown back then but when Danny had taken over, he’d changed it to The White Horse. As a teen, back before there were rules about who could work where, he’d washed dishes and mopped floors, worked his way up until he could pour drinks blindfolded. Three decades had come and gone since he’d finally stepped behind the long oak slab, discolored by time, one thing Danny knew was that he’d become sort of a poor-man’s therapist. People came to him, sometimes frequently, sometimes once and never again. They came to celebrate the highs and mourn the lows. Danny had seen his share of drunken brawls and messy reunions, a few proposals and more break-ups. He could peg pretty much every type of person the moment they crossed his threshold and the woman who’d just entered… well, the only word Danny could find was pissed.

It was only mildly busy for a Saturday night, the tables were half full, the bar a little less. The woman stepped through the doorway and paused as the think wood slab shut behind her, silencing the sound of the street beyond. Her dress, black and glove-snug, lacked any sort of decoration, nothing frilly or ‘girly’ and it ended mid-thigh, letting his eyes follow long legs down to simple, spikey heels. She began to walk his way and Danny’s eyes came back up, the neckline was just as simple as the rest of the dress but in plunged, my how it plunged and the diamond pendant necklace that hung between her breasts on a nearly-invisible chain made sure all eyes would see just how dangerously low the dress dipped.

She had slipped onto a barstool before Danny was done with his assessment, so he carried on taking the woman in as he approached, steeling himself for the verbal man-hating that was likely to come his way. She held her head high, jaw square and nose thin and long that told him she came from money. And probably wasn’t impressed about that. He’d known enough women like her to recognize the type, tired of daddy’s money and determined to make it on her own. The woman’s hair was as black and as smooth as her dress, bangs almost in her eyes in a way that looked mysterious and erotic instead of messy, hair falling over her shoulders as she shifted in her seat.

Locking eyes with him, the woman reached into that low-cut dress and pulled out some money, sliding two bills across the counter. “I’m handing this to you sober, so later when I’m drunk you don’t think it’s a mistake. Whiskey, neat, and keep them coming.” She offered Danny a smile that made him shiver.

He looked at the bills, two hundreds, and his brows shot up. His wasn’t an expensive kind of place, he’d never had a single person come close to running up that kind of tab, but she had a point, she was currently sober so he tucked it away and grabbed the whiskey and a glass. He didn’t say a word as she slammed the first back in a way that would have made his uncle roll in his grave and he poured her a second.

The second glass took her a hair longer to throw back, but Danny suspected it was only because something inside her told her it was inappropriate for a lady to drink that way. But then again, she’d probably been taught ladies didn’t drink whiskey. She looked up and caught him watching her and smirked. “Like what you see?” She leaned forward against the wood between them, breasts nearly spilling out. “Wanna…see more?”

Danny was used to forward women, but her…this wasn’t a pleasant invitation. She looked like she wanted to eat him. And not in a fun way. “What’s bothering you tonight?” He asked, despite himself. “Date go bad?”

Her smirk shifted to a sneer and a small part of him wanted to twitch back in something he wasn’t going to label as fear. She reminded him of a program he’d seen on TV about killers. “Because a woman can only be angry because of a man? The real question is, why are men so hell-bent of pissing women off? Women they know can end them and never leave a trace.”

He swallowed reflexively and looked for something to do with his hands. Her glass was empty again, so he filled it, adding some extra, he’d been paid generously enough so no sense holding back, and wondered if she was going to be better or worse drunk. “Never leave a trace, huh?”

“I can’t talk about it.” She finished the glass again, showing no signs of slowing down. “I’ve seen shit that would make any normal man’s skin crawl, he _knew_ what my career was but he… He was a dick. Mick the dick.” She snorted. “Should have been a clue.” Tapping the side of her empty glass, her eyes scanned the room.

“What sort of career is that?”

Something flashed in her eyes that Danny couldn’t label right before she answered. “I chase down bitchy little boys with mommy issues. They can run, run, run all over the world, but I catch them and make them regret being born.”

Unable to tell how much, if any, of that was true, Danny decided to pour her another glass and then simply leave her the rest of the bottle. “I got work to do, holler if you need anything.”

“Run away as soon as shit gets difficult, just like every other man on earth.”

It unnerved him, the way she spoke, the way she stared through not just him but other men in the bar. He wondered if he’d see her one day on the news.

==

Danny had spent the remainder of the night tending to his other patrons, keeping one eye of the woman at the bar. She never moved from her seat, content to watch everyone by the mirror behind the bar. Twice, men had approached her to buy her a drink and twice, he’d watched her lean in close, offering teasing views of her rack and she whispered in their ears. Whatever she’d said had made them go sheet-white and scurry away.

She reminded him of some movie spy girl, smokin’ hot and mysterious, and very, very dangerous.

As the night wore on and the bottle at her elbow got lighter, the woman sagged down more and more until the top half of her was splayed across the bar. Danny knew there was know way she was getting home on her own. Approaching her again, he asked. “You got someone you can call to get you?”

Dark eyes tried to focus on him. “Who? Mick dumped me for a woman who he could walk over, who would be happy to stay home and do his bidding, be his maid.” She pushed herself halfway upright. “Mother would tell me to suck it up and don’t let anyone see you hurt. It’s all about appearances.” She mocked, taking on a high-class lilt. “Don’t let them see you cry, no mussing your make-up, keep your dress perfect and your live tidy.” She took another swig. “Fuck that shit.”

“Your mother has a certain way of doing things then?” As he thought, money, lots of it. Made them spoiled.

“She’s always hated my way of doing things.”

Danny nodded. “Can she come get you?”

“Oh, hell no. She’s in…Prague I think. Or Rome. Rome should burn to the ground. Maybe I’d have better luck now than as a kid.” She turned to him. “I hate Mother and her stick up her ass.”

His brows rose. “You got a phone?” Reaching into her dress, she pulled out a phone and passed it to him. Danny tapped the screen to wake it up only to be met with a lock screen. “It’s locked. Unlock it and I’ll find someone you know to come get you. A cab won’t even take you in this condition.”

The woman tapped on the screen but it flashed red and then asked for her password again. “Shit. Yesterday was mandatory password change.” She groaned and instead of trying it again, poured herself more whiskey.

“Try again?”

“No point, the numbers are randomly generated for me. Probably couldn’t remember without the booze.” She crossed her arms and put her head down. “Oh well.”

“You got _anybody_ you call when you’re in trouble?” He was starting to suspect she was the kind who got into a lot of trouble.

Turning her head to the side, eyes shut, she recited like it had been drilled into her. “When we’re in trouble, call Hotch.”

Before him, Danny watched as the screen of the phone blinked to life and showed the message _message sent_ before going black again. He was starting to wonder if she wasn’t really a spy. “Who’s Hotch?” He asked.

“Huh?” She blinked up at him.

“Who’s that?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Alert, she’d clearly been covering the slur to her words but now, as it looked like she was beginning to doze off, the slurring was making her hard to understand.

Danny moved away, taking the bottle with him and deciding to give her thirty minutes before making some calls.

==

The bar was nearly empty when a man, dressed in an expensive looking suit, stepped into the bar and stopped, taking in the mostly empty room. His eyes land on the woman at the bar and Danny knew he knew her.

“I sure hope your name’s not Mick.” Danny spoke as the man took sure steps across the room.

“No. Aaron Hotchner.”

“You must be Hotch then.” He watched the serious looking man nod. “I tried to get her to call for someone to get her, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t unlock her phone. It seemed to respond to a voice command to call you though.” He was curious.

Hotch nodded. “A voice activated alert in case was can’t get to our phone and… It’s a work related safety feature.”

“Tough job?”

“You could say that.” He should Emily’s shoulder to get her to wake up. Instead he was greeted with a muttered, ‘ _fuck off, dickweed_.’

“She’s been an absolute delight.” Danny smirked. “Real ball-buster there.” When the man, Hotch shot him a laser glare more cutting than the woman’s had been, he did shrink back.

“Emily.” He used his most authoritative tone, making her eyes snap open and then squeeze shut.

“Shit.” She pressed a hand to her head. “Why’s there as stake in my skull?”

Hotch glanced up and Danny held up the nearly empty bottle. Rolling his eyes, Hotch answered. “Things with Mick didn’t go so well?”

“Mick can walk off a plane headed to England. Somewhere halfway would be great.”

Well, that answered the question he supposed. “So, raising hell and drinking yourself incapacitated and defenseless was the answer?”

“I’m not defenseless.” She retorted. “You really think, doing what we do, I’d go out without something to protect myself?”

Hotch couldn’t help his eyes drifting down the dress, his mouth asking the stupid question in unison with the bartender. “Where?”

Emily looked between them and realized they were _both_ trying to work out where a gun would be carried. Rolling her eyes, she tried to get up off the barstool. “Pervs.”

When she stumbled and almost fell, Hotch’s hands shot out and caught her without any thought, one hand landing on her stomach just below her breasts, and perhaps his thumb _did_ make contact, and the other on her lower back, right at the top of the curve of her ass. When she looked up at him, he knew he was in for it.

“Why, Agent Hotchner, feeling brazen tonight? What, with me in my _compromised_ state?” It was cruel, but she still laughed when his hands yanked back as if burned. “Aww…I thought after all these years that maybe you were coming around.” Her lip popped out in a pout.

Taking her by the upper arms, Hotch turned to the man behind the bar. “Her tab paid?”

“Yep.” He watched the man manhandle the woman out. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

==

Groaning against the sunlight coming from the wrong direction, Emily berated her for letting some man take her home. Or worse, bedding Mick after all. She wasn’t looking forward to the awkward morning-after routine. Or the walk of shame back into her apartment. Holding her head, she swore off men. And alcohol.

Squinting, she pried one eye open and looked around. The room, much to her surprise, was covered floor to ceiling fan with superheroes. Odd for a grown man. Working to get the second eye to work as well as the first, she spied a small desk with a row of action figures. A child’s desk. This was a child’s room. Wherever she was, she wasn’t currently in a man’s bed… Well, that was new.

Pulling the covers over her head, Emily decided to block out the world. Inhaling deeply, her hangover-addled brain picked up the scent of laundry detergent. It was familiar to her, a small brand that was great for people with sensitive skin. It all came together, and she popped her head out again, knowing whose home she had to be in. “Hotch!”

Soon enough, Hotch appeared in the doorway, a glass of water and some pills in hand. “You shouted?” He smirked.

“How’d I get here?” She could tell she was still dressed, and there was the part about being in _Jack’s_ bed, not his, so she figured she hadn’t gone and slept with her boss.

“You called me.”

She caught his tics. “Bullshit.”

“Fine. You were smashed off your ass and must have told your phone to alert because that’s what I got.” He put the water and pills down. “I did some asking… You and Mick didn’t go well?”

“That man is a pig.” She sat up. “He’s been suggesting heavily that I move, but apparently no wasn’t good enough. He found a woman who would be his lesser half.”

“Ah.”

She watched him look around the room and then back to her, a blush creeping up his neck. “What?”

“I…well…You had passed out by the time we got back here, and you’d said at the bar you had your backup on you…” The pink turned to red.  “It’s in the safe when you’re ready to go.” He turned to leave and almost made it out the door.

“Wait… I was passed out?”

He nodded.

“So…” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Oh…”

Instead of responding, he vanished out of sight.

Staring at the wall, Emily felt herself flush. Work was going to be awkward for a while then. She climbed out of bed and stared at herself in the mirror on the wall. She loved this dress, kept it on hand for undercover work because it had the delightful effect of turning men, and some women, into babbling messes. It was so tight, though, that undergarments were an absolute no. And to secure her gun… Well, it just went to prove what she’d already thought. Aaron Hotchner was a saint.


End file.
